Cobalt Collides with Emerald
by 0109silver
Summary: The transition to heroism after villiany is hard, however even more parilous when your thoughts are swarmed with your assistant. Here's a story of Shego and Drakken fighting villiany, while subsequently fighting feelings for each other. But it turns out another villian has risen, forcing Shego and the Doctor to face their past and their future. Post-Grad. SxD. Rated T for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a story about Drakken and Shego. It will be populated by old faces, new faces, and very familiar ones. Hopefully you will enjoy.**

**((((0))))**

Nonetheless, it was an exhausting day. Clients coming and going, experiments conducted (more or less exploded), and the anticipation of coming back to the lair was looming, seductively, over Drakken's head. He, the now go to scientist and genius, was previsioning lounging at the fire place with an adept textbook maybe about biodiversity . . . or maybe botany? Either way, he was yearning for the literature to ease his mind. Perhaps a cup of cocoa moo with it will be meliorate the reading even better, however that is still another 3 hours from now, 3 hours of tattling with clients and doing rudimentary experiments that he could achieve blindfolded.

Sure the hero business is more rewarding, more profitable, other than the alternative, but it was occasionally slow and dull from staying in the lab most of day and discussing experiments with lowly GJ scientists. Sure he loved the pay, and was delighted when he invented an outstanding prototype, yet he missed his lair, his hours for a break. Maybe he could consult with Dr. Director for an at the lair job? It would surely assist in the production of achievements and how fluid they would be in testing. And without remedial scientists breathing down his neck, he would definitely have more progress. But still, 3 hours of crazy haired, bird brained people awaited him and the blue tinted man dreaded it.

Nonetheless, the minutes past gradually, and the numbskulls thought just as slow. A vein on the side of his neck grew with each passing minute, as he scornfully stared at the scientists and so called colleges, as they worked around him. It grew and grew and grew. . .

Drakken could feel his blue skin turning deep cobalt, as the frustration built up within his system, and as if on cue a familiar crashing of glass arose from the room. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as a curse escaped from his lips, and he dragged his fingers down his face. If he could he would bang his forehead against the desk, however he knew that it would imply the he could be in the league of his "coworkers", so instead wrapped his arms around his head and rested it against the cool wood. Hoping the room temperature wood would aplomb his boiling blood, his mind slowly scattered away to his subconscious. It scattered to his job (it was a love/hate relationship), possible cures, and inventions, reverse engineering he has to do, yet even through the boiling blood and heated brain his thoughts landed on Shego.

Ah, his sidekick—or well partner? . . . Friend? Acquaintance? Cohort? Aug! It's been confusing for them in the last 3 months or so, mainly because of_ the_ ceremony. Yes, some has to do with the transition from villainy to heroism, yet mostly the problems arise from _the_ ceremony. Dr. Drakken has recently learned that the newly found botany power is wired to his subconscious, so the vines act on his canonic instincts, needs, and emotions. The days that followed were awkward, inapt, and well, disheartening. Secretly, he wished she would react differently other than hiding for that following week, maybe return something heartfelt and warming. However Shego has never been one with emotions or dealing with them, she would more like disintegrate it than address it.

Withal, their relationship has handled even worse than just some subconscious thought (he never told Shego about the subconscious botany fruition, he would like his balls where they are), through failing several times at conquering the world and defeating an alien overload, and then subsequently saving it, yes, they have had more speculative interactions.

Pulling out of his rumblings of his personal life, an intimate sound of a sliding door pried the rest of him out of his (rather spectacular) mind. Dr. Director entered poised and ready for action, her eye swiped across the room, gazing at beakers, graduated cylinders, and burners.

_Now's my chance_, he thoughts overwhelmed him as he sprung up and literally ran to the Director.

. . . . .

Nonetheless, it was an exhausting day. Sneaking past security cameras, fighting evil henchmen, and the anticipation of sitting by the fire with a good adventure novel predominated, temptingly, in Shego's mind. Obtaining a nitrogen-configuring-whatchamacallit, took all of the energy out of the ex-villainess, and the only thing mediating her and the cozy bed was a 2 hour flight in a hovercraft. Even so, her eyes drooped down to the control pad and her body accidently pushed down on the controls, nearly nose-diving the craft. Springing up, she repositioned and nearly punched the autopilot so no more unsuspected diving would proceed. Reclining (or reclining as far as a pilots chair could go), the green tinted woman solemnly closed her eyes for some much needed rest from heroism.

It was for certain the hero business was more exciting and more action packed than villainy, but it takes a lot out of a girl. Sure it is exuberating to see a criminal's tyranny end—she nearly forgotten how it felt—and the sense of pay was gratifying to see in her pocket, but the stress on the muscles and the mind was torturous. Shego often went to the lair sore and fatigued, and barely had time for what she wanted to do.

She should have suspected this again. Putting people before you philosophy, which has been drilled since she was a young girl ever since that radioactive comet hit—however that wasn't the really reason why she abandoned her brothers for a life of crime (even Hego's explanation that she liked the trade of law-breaking was not so far away). Between Mego's selfishness and Hego's Adam West Saturday morning cartoon approach to heroism, she couldn't stand it anymore, she was annoyed by the white and black area to "good versus evil". And the only resort to leaving that life was living another one opposite to it, like a total 180. It _was_ fun, while it lasted. Not giving a damn, having your own vacations, and people respecting (well dreading) you, Shego relished the business of crime . . . while it endured.

There was always something hollow every time Shego thought about her life beforehand. It wasn't that she missed her brothers (she reluctantly does), and it wasn't that she missed villainy (all good things must come to an end). It was that she went at it all wrong. Just because she was a part of Team Go, doesn't mean she had to follow them exactly as a team, and because she was a villain doesn't state she will always be one. Shego could be a hero, yet on _her_ own terms, and she doesn't _need _to be on a team, she can do it alone.

That is what irks the tinted woman even more. She didn't cypher _that_ out sooner.

The ex-villainess peaked through her lashes, saw that she had a good hour left, and snuggled closer to the semi-cushioned seat. Her mind finally rested, and soon after her body, both riddled by aches and fatigue. Wandering aimlessly through her thoughts, the mentation comprised of the new Club Banana season coming up, the new exercise she's been dying to try out, and weirdly of a certain blue skinned genius. The sidekick shifted uncomfortably in the equally uncomfortable chair, as she tried to conceive something else besides that buffoon . . . it failed.

Images of the erstwhile boss came flooding in, almost like a water gate opening; once it is cracked it is already flooding. Frustration also followed the images, as she instinctively sat up, abandoning the idea of sleep, she pressed the button for manual control, bidding for beguilement. But still, that only intensified the images of Drakken, and, much to Shego's demise was turned to the only affair she could think about. Plaguing her mind, her lips downturned into her usual scowl with her eyebrows furrowed instinctively, she wished to exterminate those parlous thoughts of her aged employer.

So in the meantime, the hero renounced songs, poems, psychology lessons, anything that could rally her mind elsewhere. It succeeded, yet somehow it seemed paradoxical.

. . . . .

Black boots shuffled across the chintzy linoleum as the tinted women, who the boots were attached to, tardily shambled to her room—on the other side of the lair. Transfixed on the idea of sleep, Shego stumbled and shuffled through the lair, her head low and shoulders slumped in fatigue. However, the chambers were still a decent field away, and she suspected she would have the energy to get there . . . apparently her judgment failed. As she entered the common room, the cozy, plush, red velvet love seat beaconed her over, and she just couldn't balk the welcome, so the exhausted hero dragged her feet to the receiving couch.

Timidly seating herself, she gazed at somehow started fire (maybe one of the henchmen ignited it?), flickering and admitting its warmth throughout the common room. Shego half balled herself up staring at the flames, unconsciously her hand met her chin, and her eyes lolled downward and downward and . . .

The green women soon found slumber, as the fire quivered casting a willowy shadow throughout the room.

**((((0))))**

**So how did you like it? Good? Bad? Obscenely amazing? Chapter 2 will be up in a short bit.**

**~Silver **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Well, I didn't suspect all this publicity for this story, but thank you all for commenting! This chapter is more of a filler chapter than anything else, but I still hope you like it.**

**((((0))))**

Dr. Drakken was exuberant. After severe amounts of imploring that most likely damaged his pride, the blue doctor was finally liberated from the confines of the GJ lab and was now on his way to his lair. Oh, he couldn't wait to tell Shego! Maybe they'll (somewhat) celebrate this bantam victory with a good cup of cacao moo? Or maybe an Italian dinner cooked by ours truly? Oh well . . . it was good to go back into the old swing of things, well, relatively. So the genius was off in his hovercraft, joy literally blossoming from him in his own botany way.

As he arrived, and once his vines were under control, he immediately searched for his partner (Cohort? Acquaintance? Friend?), he looked through the kitchen, the cambers, even knocked on her door without an answer. Puzzled, he looked again. Nowhere. He concluded she was still on the mission, and trekked to the common room. Somehow he managed to make a fire, all hair still there, and got into more comfortable clothes such as blue pinstripe pajama bottoms and a loose black acid stained shirt. He rested by the fire, and, as it turned out, a text book on pyrotechnics was liable enough for him, however as he was half way through, he had a sudden yearning for cacao moo. Marking the page, he shoved the book under his arm, abandoning his ardent seat on the couch.

The doctor emerged several minutes later, a hot cup in hand, in fact he was in mid sip when he saw lump on the couch where he once was. He stalked closer, and was stupefied by the sight before him.

It was Shego, as it turned out, laying soundlessly asleep on the velvet couch. The blue man just stood near her, dumbfound by the scene before him, contemplating on whether or not to wake her. He soon decided against that, since he has done that before and came out with scorches in places where it shouldn't. So he just stood there, cup steaming, and text book under his wing. Gazing at the green women, he couldn't help but be magnetized by her presence.

Standing for a few more seconds; however in the end he saw an opening at the edge of the couch, just enough space for him to sit and not disturb her. So, setting the hot cup and book by the side, he tacitly maneuvered to the edge and rested onto the cushion. It was awkward, with no doubt, sitting next to a slumbering warrior, but somehow it only made him more persistent to stay, to push the boundaries to speak.

Adaptively, he grabbed his book, and began skimming through where he left off. That was difficult. He was so distracted by the enticing act of her breathing, he couldn't read another word. So, he opted out just to regard the dormant woman.

As the blue scientist longed at Shego, he realized he never actually witnessed her sleep before, surely he seen her dazed and knocked unconscious before, but still that was against her own will. Now . . . now, here she was relaxed, unfortified, without a trace of criticism or repugnance, without the usual languidly expression. She seemed more innocent, more ingenuousness—which is preposterous, because he knows she is far from purity—yet it was nice to see her for her.

Dr. Drakken was never romantic—though he could be charming or beguiling in a rare form—even so now he couldn't help but visualize her as nothing but pure beauty. The warrior was half curled in a legato manner, with her hand draped across her abdomen, and the other idly near her face and her hair obscuring her features, it was probably the most natural position he has seen her in a while. He was so use to the warded, stoic Shego that he almost forgot that she once was a girl, a teen.

_A teen when you were a man. _That thought depressed him. As much as he would like to believe, he was still older than her by a long shot. Nearly 11 years to be exact. Pushing the thought away, he resumed his focus at the fire which was alive and vigorous. _Like Shego should be. _

When has this become so demoralizing? So depressing?

Dismissing his desire to glance at her one more time, he preoccupied himself with his own thoughts; Rummaging through his past experiments, through his life, and even to his embarrassing college years. Withal, the tinted man's intellectual mind still wandered back to the sleeping woman beside him. He suppressed a sigh, he was usually good at compartmentalizing such things as personal and professional, but with Shego things get blurred. It's not like he depended on her or anything, it's just he couldn't vision a life without her, she has stuck with him for so many years, the scientist is so used to seeing her by his side.

Just then the woman stirred next to him, he went motionless, secretly hoping he'd contain sonic speed instead of ferns. But once she lay silent again, his muscles relaxed. He glanced back at her, or more precisely her hair, it was concealing her face more now, and out of compulsion he reached out cautiously and placed delicate fingers across her forehead and graciously moved the strands away.

The genius's eyes widened at her appearance, it wasn't because of the scrapes and bruises of the mission nor the intenseness of the heat from her body, but the face itself. Shego was an exotic beauty complemented by the green ivory skin. Yet as he inspected more, he realized she bore no foundation or blush most women her age put on. The only resemblance to makeup was the black eye liner she put on to intensify her deep Pakistan green eyes.

She was utterly natural.

A smile grin spread across his blue face, as he gazed at her, oh her. . .

In fact he was so entranced, he didn't notice her stir until it was too late. The warrior's eyes flashed open, and predatorily her instincts were awake too. Feeling a presence and something resting near her, instinctually rage and scornfulness filled her, as she simultaneously grabbed the hand, twisted it into a self-taught arm bar, and maneuvered so quickly the perpetrator didn't know what hit him until he was on the floor. Ah, there's the Shego Drakken knew well. The one with the plasma bolt by his neck and the tempest filled eyes, not necessarily in that order.

"D-D-Dr. D? . . ." The green women's voiced wavered in angry and somewhat disbelief, as she stared down at her boss. He was, she realized, in an acid stained shirt and blue pajama bottoms, so a small (uncharacteristic) blush spread on her cheeks as she realized the compromising position they were in. She was on top, one hand pinning both his hands above his head, and the other near his throat flaming with green plasma, but the most mortifying thing about it was that her legs where on either side of him, topping the posture.

"Ah, Shego? Is this any way to greet an employer?" He stumbled out, most likely still fazed from the whiplash of motion. A sheepish grin crossed her face, as she extinguished her flames, and relinquished his hands from her mighty hold. The ex-mercenary furtively stood up, extending a helping hand to her boss, who she very easily overpowered, and was subduing a deep blush threatening to break through the green skin.

The blue man took the offering, and stood up, less stealthily than his assistant, and began brushing nonexistent dirt off him. Folding her arms over her chest, Shego bore her usual scowl and indifference as the man before her cleaned himself. The green woman cleared her throat, and tattily retorted:

"Actually it is, when they hover over you while you're sleeping." She intentionally left out the part of the warmth she felt a few seconds before she woke. But Dr. Drakken doesn't need to know that.

He scoffed, "Well, I'm sorry. I didn't know concern was off limits." Ah, back to bickering between them, ground zero so to speak. He was finished brushing himself off, and now he stood cross armed like the woman before him, challenging her to come up with something better. She always did.

"Well, apology accepted, given that you were creeping me out." Like he thought before, she always won, and he was always at a loss for words. A lankly grin came to her face in victory—and in satisfaction, that her boss was weak jawed and enviably defeated. She stood there a few more seconds, taking in his confound posture, however the inspection was broken when a long lasting yawn came, indicating that she is _very_ tired. Spinning on her heel, she addressed him once more, over her shoulder before going to her room:

"We'll discuss this and mission tomorrow. See ya Doc." And then she was gone, leaving the still, and silence doctor alone.

. . . . .

It would be a lie to say the boss and his employee slept peacefully, because it would be. Neither of them had a decent night slumber, more or less a few minutes of it and then an hour of awareness. Dr. Drakken was still commoved about his new in lair qualification, conceiving over certain experiments he would proceed to do in the morning, and rambling on about his clocked retort he'd wish he'd used against Shego, but alas it was too late. She has always got the upper hand in verbal and physical confrontations, and he knew he was inferior in both. Yes, _maybe _he was intellectually superior, and he consciously kept that to himself, but if it came to sarcasm or knocking out a henchman, Shego was the one to do that. The doctor sighed, and rolled over once more, eyes squinted to persuade his body to sleep. His employee qualified in things he couldn't, while he qualified in her lacks (like people skills per say).

In a way, he thought, they completed each other.

Shego's night wasn't too different from her boss's; she too tossed and turned, and purposely smothered herself in her pillow hoping to get some shut eye. It did not work, at all. The woman's mind swarmed with the after thoughts of the mission before her debacle with the doctor. How the mission seemed too easy, too rudimentary for her skill set, but in all it was fun. She flipped and thrown men twice her size easily over her shoulder, and the menial stealth she needed was almost farcical. Yet the most laughable part was the gloating villain revealing his plan while she was standing in front of him, besieged by minions. Another weather machine stolen, another world domination or get rich quick scheme, it was a little redundant for her after years of living with Drakken. But it made her smile, in spite of herself.

She over threw the menace, and contacted GJ for the cleanup squad. Another paycheck, another criminal behind bars. She nearly inhumed that feeling of gratitude, of saving the world or a city. To her, that was probably the most desirable feeling in the universe, a step ahead of conquering it. A desirous grin came to her face, as she humbly closed her eyes, hoping, for some much needed sleep.

However it still evaded her.

. . . . .

Apparently, there is no need to save the world, because Shego slept in. This utterly surprised her that she sprung out of bed and hurried to her communicator, a small, palm sized, translucent pad which with fingerprint analysis opened and showed no messages. Cocking an eyebrow, she shuts it off, and flops back down on her pale green bed. Yet with the adrenaline rushing through her veins, sleep was no longer an option, so she emerged from her chambers, green robe and all.

Her feet platted across the linoleum floor as she made her way to the kitchen for (and she can't believe she's considering it) cocoa moo. Just then a wave of aroma hit her, imminently awakening her already alert senses. It was sweet, buttery, and hinted with flour, in her subconscious she knew what it was but it eluded it her like her sleep did last night. So she proceeded down the hall, allowing her nose to direct the way. She entered the kitchen, and then halted when the astounding sight before her unfolded.

It was Dr. Drakken, moving fleetly in his blue way, mixing and battering, nonetheless he was cooking. As Shego's mouth was collecting flies, he was mixing batter and flipping beacon. Now Shego knew where she remembered the smell from. When she was a tween, Hego would make a meal like this when they could afford it, and everyone would sit around the tiny table and feast, not caring about each other's dilemmas or the crime outside, it was just tranquil, one of the fondest retentions she had when she was a child. Even Mego would shut up, and that made it even more memorable. Shego then snapped out of her rummaging, as her stomach ultimately woke and demanded whatever was cooking. Placing a hand on her abdomen to dampen the growl, she put on her usual languorous façade and stepped inside the kitchen.

"Whatcha cooking, Dr. D?" She inquired, leaving behind her surprise. He stiffened slightly under the sound of her voice, unsuspected having an audience to his actions. Really, he thought she was still a slumber, so he prepared breakfast in peace, hoping he wouldn't be interrupted. As he glanced at her, and promptly did a double take, now it was his turn to be fly paper. The apathetic women wore some things unaccustomed to him seeing; casual clothing. A silk pale green robe was lazily wrapped around her, revealing some thigh indicating she was wearing booty pajama bottoms, and her feet were bare, exposing her nearly-black green toe nail polish. Her hair was tousled in every which way and subtle bags hung under her eyes. It was the previous night all over all again, a wolf revealing its underbelly. The doctor hastily composed himself, and returned his gaze to the pancakes before him.

"Good morning to you too, Shego," He said, placing a stack of pancakes to the side. At the site of them the green woman's stomach beaconed for them, she readily silenced it.

Through a yawn, she added, "Yea, yea. . ." She pulled out a stool, and flopped onto it. Grumbling, her stomach seemed to gladly take up the conversation.

"Hungry?" He smirked, gesturing to her starving center.

She pursed her lips, "What gives you that idea?" Obviously her sarcasm awoke too, much too Drakken's delight. He would deny it if you asked him, but he secretly reveled their pettifogging, even if it was over breakfast, it made him feel . . . what was the word? . . . Serene. In his best words.

They bantered back and forth, from green to blue, and vice versa, until the food was ready, and truly it was delicious. And in a comfortable silence.

. . . . .

In the shadows, he loathed what they had, what _he _bore. Oh how he despised the way she looked at him, and how he gazed at her. So he waited until she came back to the side she started on, to come back to her hero origins. All he had to do was wait. And he has perfectly honed his patience for her, he cautiously prepared. It was a love/hate relationship for him. He envied her, all of her, even though she has never noticed him, but at the same time he abhorred her ignorance, her denial of him. So he laid in postponement, for her to devolve to her first side, the side she was molded around. Even so, as she had her time at spas, and breaking and entering, and then subsequently saving the Earth after years of sin, he was prowling in secrecy. Do his doings behind her back and developing his skills from all times and places.

Indeed he was patient, as it was a prerequisite for his ambition, so it was no concern to him as he glowered as the screen before him. It was of her, with no question, bombarding henchmen in her path.

_Only a matter of time_, he thought. _Well, only a matter of times_ . . .

**((((0))))**

**So. . . cliffhanger. . . *evil laugh***


	3. Chapter 3

**CCWE Chapter 3**

**Okay just found this AMAZING youtube video. It's called _Shego- Somebody to Worry About_. It basically the voice actress singing and Shego in the pictures (you know if they make a 5th season Shego HAS to sing, or there will be a riot!)**

**Also, you know this is coming, there is a petition of Kim Possible's fifth season (and Disney has actually agreed to it). Google it. It is the first one with Official on it. Pass the word too!**

**Thank you for your time of reading this rant and my (semi) amazing story.**

**((((0))))**

". . . So, yea, that was it. The usual villain and take over the world fiasco." The gourmandized woman finished her recreation of the day before, gulping one last bite of the battercakes, finishing the stack. Shego doesn't usually indulge in carbs or fats (it's a figure thing), but Dr. Drakken's cultivating genius (try as she must, Shego can't discriminate against Dr. D's cooking, even if this is probably the only genius field he is in) was too good to pass up. Satisfied and over indulged, the green hero finished her story, and passed the plate away, indicating she was done. The doctor took it up, and placed it in the sink, and whipped back around to the former sidekick.

They have been conversing for the past hour over breakfast, not caring the cakes grew insensate as they bickered to and from each other. Even so, they still ate the luke cold pancakes despite how it tasted uncanny. Yet all good things must come to an end, and Shego stood up and stretched—even though she was already wide awake.

"Well, see ya Dr. D. Have to get ready for saving the world you know?" She spun on her heel, and made her way to the doors. Over her shoulder, with a sly smirk she added, "P.s. the pancakes were a little burnt. . ."

In her subconscious translation: Thanks for the amazingly, wonder, outstanding pancakes (yet Drakken doesn't need to know), but it is easier for Shego to say the former with her usual satire and smirk. Fumed, the blue doctor sputtered to a comeback, "Well—I—you . . . oh whatever!" Even so, by the time he had a reasonable rejoinder she was gone, once again leaving the tinted man alone and deviled in the last 24 hours. After cleaning up the extraneous meal, the doctor made his way to his ill-used laboratory and began his first official day of stay at home scientist job.

. . . . .

To be honest, Shego is actually a very patient person—she grew up with her brothers for one—however at times, like this one, something's just get on her nerves. GJ hasn't called, or messaged her in over an hour, ensuing the tinted woman to sit in front of the communicator in an ascertained manor. Fundamentally, she was in her chair, arms and legs crossed, glowering at the baleful device. Her green eyes stared intently at it, hoping for something to come up—a cat stuck up a tree, fourth grader needing a tutor, a banal scientist bent on ruling the world, something! Sighing, Shego pinched the bridge of her nose, contemplating on whether or not to consume her time elsewhere.

Like Kim Possible, the emerald woman's life now revolved around the missions her skills were honed for, and even so it depleted most of her life, and the woman was now habituated to it. When she was a teen, her life was a mirror to this one; saving people, protecting them, doing what she had to for the side of good. All the same, she was basically reined by other people's needs before her own, and that was problem back then. One of the plethora of reasons she left that side. Her life was so hectic, in fact, that (god if someone knows about this, there _will_ be hell to pay!) her first kiss wasn't until she was the age of 17, embarrassing as it may seem. Her professional life and private life never mingled nor was the profession ever equal. So as Shego glared at the tech, she abruptly realized that this was superfluous, and released a scream of frustration. She snatched up the communicator and some gym clothes in a frenzy of dunning, and exited her room with a trail of smoke accompanying her.

She needed to exempt some plasma.

. . . . .

Dr. Drakken was more felicitous than he has been in over 2 months. The blue man was in his own domain; mixing, stirring, measuring . . . that was his element, not pacing about underlying experiments with brain-dead lab coats drooling over their "work". This was his place, his tranquility. And for once in a long time he was calm and content, competent and efficient, and the scientist was happy to admit it. It has been awhile since he has been in this laboratory, hence why there is a thin layer of dust coating all his unfinished and mere inventions and from the mind excogitations. Most were unessential, and seemingly unnecessary (quote-unquote Shego), but some, with Dr. Drakken's stroke of genius here and there, were actually and genuinely extraordinary. Yes almost all of them were for evil, tiny remits of his past evil ways, take the sonic disruptor or the quantum laser system, but here and there beneath the shadows of an unfortunate soul were the prospects of goodness. Virtually all of them were assigned to him by the government—cures, weapons, mechanisms to further research, but the doctor chose the inventions he desired to make.

Today, he was passing the time with chemical reactions and easy-to-do experimentations to ease and preoccupy his (rather noetic) mind. Apparently, he was having a visitor coming to his lair today, a preferably important visitant. No details on the person, but the way Dr. Director spoke of such person were with envy and aspiration. Something about a military project, new and foreclosed, and _very_ profitable for such a person like Dr. Drakken. Sure, the blue ex-villain liked—no savored the pay, but that wasn't all that motivated the erstwhile employer. No, not the profit. Yet the glory and admiration that comes with it that's what incited the scientist. Oh, how he loved the way people longed at him with pride and acceptance. . .

So the blue man continued what he was doing, not acknowledging the thumping of bass overhead.

A couple of minutes later, a ringing sound disrupted his experiments, unfortunately, because apparently the impromptu visitor has arrived. The man grumbled and pressed the red beeping button that indicated the visitor is there and waiting. The doctor went back to work, anticipating that the man can navigate through the lair with ease. A short time later a knock came upon the door of the lab, reacting Dr. Drakken cleaned up what he could, straightened, walked to the door and opened it. And what a sight it was.

Ostensibly, the guest was a four star general by his ribbons across his chest and the four nautical stars on the bridge of his helmet. But it wasn't the position the man held or his decorations he bore, it was the man himself. At first glance the man didn't seem qualified to be at such a high ranking because of his physical stature. The general was short and stout, barely reaching five-two in Drakken's opinion, and the belly of the man seemed to depress him even more. However, sensing that the general wasn't a loose man, the doctor greeted him in.

"Welcome, General. Come in, come in." Drakken stepped aside to allow the man to enter. The general did, and his decorations jingled as he strides in. He wore an olive green military configurative coat and beige military trousers that were cut off by polished combat boots. In fact he was so well-dressed Drakken thought that he was preparing for war at any moment, which was likely because of all the wackos with death rays and ambitions to rule the world—which was hypocritical coming from the tinted man.

The General took a quick assessment of the lab before him, analyzing the beakers and weaponry sporting about the room. Dr. Drakken was behind him, also canvassing the four star man. The man was at least sixty maybe seventy, with a rough face and rough skin. His eyes were barely noticeable from his wispy white eyebrows and the fact that they were sunk in by age. The nose on the general was noticeable too, almost like a hawk's beak, which it reached down to his top lip.

_With those eyebrows and that nose he could fly away at any time_, the doctor thought bitterly.

"Dr. Drakken," grumbled the guest, his voice is low and scratchy and made Drakken stand up straighter unintentionally. He turned around and faced the doctor, piercing him with a hidden glare.

"We have some business to discuss."

. . . . .

Dr. Drakken was staggeringly uncomfortable around the General. Within the first minutes of the discussion, the doctor got the hint that the man was the no-sense kind of man, no laughing, not even a smile. So after a couple of sarcastic comments (Shego has plagued his brain with them) toward the man and a few steely glares later, Drakken clamped his mouth shut and only spoke when he was spoken to.

The reason for the chaffer was that the General and the government needed Dr. D to produce a self-charging, self-sustaining laser beam that could be compactable enough for a soldier to carry. In other words—

"Laser guns? That is what you what me to invent." The doctor cocked his eyebrow, not believing what he was hearing. To be fair, he was excited—it was a dream coming from the future. People have always tried to invent something like this. In the 50s TV programs were packed with such depictions of these weapons, yet were never invented. Too . . . dangerous they would say. Impossible even. But they were withheld by the technology of their time, and now history was repeating itself starting with Drakken.

"It is the weapon of the future, son. Other countries and private people—some with not so good intentions—are already starting their own projects to produce these." The man sat across the table, folder open toward the doctor pointing to pictures and failed experiments of other countries and private companies.

"And. . . What? You want to destroy the enemy before it happens?"

The General scoffed at that statement, "We want to get a leg up on the enemy." That was a cold hard statement, sending chills down the tinted man's spine.

The guest continued, "It is only a matter of time before someone gets ahold of the secret to building these, and that someone may not be as benign as you may want. Wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"

There was an implicit message there, he could feel it. He knew the General investigated his past, yet he was still surprised that the man across the table could be so forward with him about it. He had a past, indeed, it wasn't perfect or polished like the General's, but he tried to ameliorate it as best he could. Drakken didn't reply, his only response was the flipping of the pages of the folder before him, he hoped it could cool his heated blood.

"So you want me to develop this technology?" He asked, with a bit of distain in it.

"Yes that's the point of coming here—to recruit you for the project."

The blue man knew he was being redundant about asking the questions, but he still needed to wrap his mind around it. The government trusted him enough to develop this? Should he take it?

"You seem to be hesitating about this, son?" The general leaned in, trying to get his point across to the tinted man in front of him. "Men have already tried to develop this technology already. Just yesterday a private man stole a very powerful and expensive piece of machinery that could be used for evil. It was later revealed he wanted to formulate these lasers by his semantics we received . . . it wouldn't have worked though, but still . . . people want this power already and the man _was_ close to inventing such things."

The scientist stared at the man adjacent to him unable to conceive words at the moment. But he shook it off, and glanced back down at the folder next to him; pictures of faulty blueprints, before and after pictures of labs that are now desecrated. All these people attempted to use this technology for good or for evil and flunked in a devastated state. Drakken stared back at the General before him, contemplating on his decision at hand.

The scientist stood up and walked over to General and waited for him to react. The General, clearly surprised by the blue man's action, straightened too. Then Drakken solemnly stuck his hand out to the General, accepting the offer before him.

And the General claimed it.

However then something hit him that he didn't realize before.

"You said the plans were acquired. By who helped you get them?" His question was innocent and filled with wonder of who could have helped them.

Just then the General did something Drakken never though he'd see. A smile from the man (obviously not practiced by him). And with that, the General's wicked grin disappeared and the military man retorted, "Why . . . your lovely assistant of course."

. . . . .

But one thing ran through Dr. Drakken's mind as the military man exited his lair, distinctively grateful at the man's decision. The government came to him not because of his genius or that he was the only man capable of doing so (there were other scientists able). No, it wasn't anything like that. With his past and his life, he wasn't like every other scientist in the world by far. He didn't have a shiny lab or assistants with prestigious degrees from an equal college, nor did he even have the equipment. He didn't have anything like that by far. But he did have one thing that all of them can't even conceive to have.

He was expendable.

**((((0))))**

**Well how did you like it? Was bad or amazingly amazing? Please comment.**

**Remember to view the video and sign the petition for another season of Kim Possible. **

**I'll have another chapter up soon, because I'm on Spring Break and have a lot of free time on my hands. So sooner or later the story will be updated and we'll see Shego 'exempt some plasma'. *evil laugh***

**Oh, some of you have been PMing me to draw scenes from this story and have been asking me constantly. Here's my answer: Yes you can, however if you post it on the internet you have to cite me and give a link to my story. That is my only conditions to illustrating scenes. Credit me and link me and your good.**

**Thanks for reading.**

**~Silver **


	4. Chapter 4

**CCWE Chapter 4**

**Yep another chapter, another step closer to ruling the world. This was actually kind of hard to write (a remedy for writer's block needs to be made!) for some odd reason. But it was also very exciting to do so.**

**Important: If you see any grammar or spelling mistakes or even if you need me to explain something PLEASE tell me! Either through a PM or a comment. I WILL fix it! Thank you. **

**Enjoy.**

**((((0))))**

Sweat hung in the air, and the familiar taste of it was hinted in Shego's mouth. The green woman was in the training room doing a new exercise she has been dying to use if not for those missions she has been on. She hung several feet in the air, balanced perfectly on two suspended rings on a rod. The woman's arms were spread out to her side as she flexed upward with her head down to the ground. Perspiration riddled Shego's body as the exercise progressed. She bent her arms down further, and suddenly sprung up, letting go of the gymnastic rings and flipped several times in the air. As she came down, her hands grabbed the rings and the woman was again balanced, upright this time.

Music of the rock gender blasted throughout the room from a small jukebox in the corner, and the lyrics were screaming something about murder and pain—implicating perfectly to the assistant's mood. Drakken often commented on her choice of music being mirrored to her mood and views on life; soft rock when she was happy, hard/metal when she was pissed and slow alternative for sadness. And right now she was in the mood of pure and utter rage, coinciding with the border-lined screamo coming from the speakers. It's not that she was enraged by a certain person or people nor was it on herself. She was just in one of those moods where everything wasn't right or nothing seemed satisfying to the superhero.

And other bystanders suspected this too, because once she stepped foot inside the room, the previous tenants (leftover henchmen with no job or place to go) left at the sight of her, taking notice of the scowl written across her ivory face. They're smart, she might add, because she was known to have not-so-volunteered sparing sessions with them, mainly to blow off steam—or more specifically plasma. Smoke radiated from the target range—all bull's-eyes I might add—from the anger she possessed. Once that was out of the way, the green woman went to her usual routines; stretching, running on the treadmill, punching and kicking dummies (that curiously resembled a certain former enemy). Yet the woman grew blasé by the routineness and went to a new workout she wanted to try out.

So there she was hanging from the gymnastic rings, flipping and twisting beautifully, as the music blared through the stench filled room.

. . . . .

Finally, the doctor heard the thumping of bass over head as he worked (more or less when he saw his equipment shaking from the rhythms). He cocked an eyebrow, and tilted his head up to the story above him. Drakken knew what the ruckus was, but the reason behind such a thing finessed him. Shego was never the one to blast her choice of music across the place, let alone do it with such nonchalance. This was wholly unlike her—which in itself affrighted the blue scientist. Deliberating whether or not to proceed what he was doing or investigate the reason behind the tumult above him. If he continued what his was doing, he would avert unwanted scorching. But if he still didn't, Shego could take it as him being insouciant about her welfare, and therefore lead to more unwanted and unnecessary nagging and botheration. Aug! Even so, if he went to insure on the woman, and said woman not want the attention. . .

The man could not win even if he tried. The doctor released a sigh of frustration, still contemplating on his actions he'll soon take and the concomitant aftermath. His assistant is so grueling to read at times and at most, to the highest degree, maverick woman he has ever known. Always changing her mind, and always undecipherable in all the time he has known the woman. Oh the complications. . .

Just then the bass gradually grew within seconds implying that the hero was turning up the volume to the stereo, which caused noticeable shaking to the scientist's machines and chemical substances within beakers. Suddenly Drakken's mind was made—which frightened the man—so he straightened, made mental bookmarks of his advancements, and left the safe haven called his lab. As he tacitly made his way to the exercise room, the blue man rummaged through his—possibly fatal—outcomes of engaging the enraged woman in conversation.

Putting aside the notions of fatality or the possibility of bone breakage, the doctor was authentically worried over what could perchance the atypical relinquish of emotions of Shego. Normally, he would let her be, to inadvertently sway her to conclude her misfortunes. Then after she would "cool down" he would accompany her and silently pry to see what was troubling the young woman. When she reluctantly stated what was bothering her, he would listen, knowing that one, single, improper comment and she would close up, and rewind to her tentative deliberation. These menial conversations (to Shego at least) were few and sparse, and even though they barely reside in the green woman's mind, they would haunt the older doctor. Much to the point that he contemplates what her life was like before they started their business relationship, before they even laid eyes on each other. Was she rich? Was the woman popular in school or an outcast like he was? Did her brothers contact her often since she reposed back to her hero ways? Or was she still isolated?

These questions ran through his mind as he made his way to the elevator, increasingly nearing the exercising room harboring the blasting music. Sometimes his enforcer can be so off-putting or mordant that she is hard to decipher through the satire and inert expression, that sometimes the seemingly distant subject can really be more close to her than it really is (take her return to the lair after he recruited Warmonga and her reaction to being "replaced"). The blue man sighed in the small elevator waiting for the doors to close. Why was she so complicated? Sure she can show some enthusiasm once in a while, just to give the doctor more of an idea of what goes through the enigma called her brain. But once that thought raced through his mind, it immediately met a scoff from the scientist.

Shego was never one to present her woes to people, let alone a college drop out. And she is certainly not a person to trot around needless emotions of disgust or happiness and definitely not despair. In fact the only indication to those prevalent expressions was "the incident". The man shuddered at the intellection, which brought up undesirable memories and contradicting emotions within the intellectual's mind.

Try as he must, the doctor suppressed those retentions to the best of his abilities, which was a tedious task in itself. Occasionally, his thoughts would wonder back to that impertinent day of roller coaster emotions and actions. The tears shed, the plasma fire thrown and dodged, the lip locking—

The kissing _was_ nice. . .

No! He will not go back there. She was under mind control, not in her right mind. And from an effete device too! A moodulator? What purpose was to invent such a gimmick, or even buy such a matter? It posed no scientific intuitiveness, no backbone, or relativeness. Why. . .

The doors opened and the doctor entered a corridor, and was pulsed by the bumping of bass and accords from the music. He grunted, and preceded down the hall, unwillingly he might add. If it wasn't for the shaking of his equipment he wouldn't be here, he would be on his way to creating the next prestigious invention since sliced bread.

He paused at the door, taking in the closeness of his abrasive former sidekick. So without any more hesitancy, he pressed the button, and entered through the sliding door.

The deafening rhythms bombarded the man as he entered the scorched premises. It was a fairly large room (for the henchmen, no doubt), with all of the latest equipment and necessaries for physical exertion. Padded red floors rested under the scientist's feet and white, high walls surrounded him. The familiar smell of smoke hung in the air with the dominated stench of perspiration. To the doctor's right it seemed to be the source of the smoke—the target range of course.

The room was empty save for the flying woman in the air, who beautifully twisted into a triple back flip and landed as equally active. She wore exercise apparel, clad with white, grey, and green adornment, which barred Drakken momentarily. The man just can't seem to get away from the casual Shego. Not that his expected her to be always suited in the black and green spandex, it is still taboo to him for her to be so casual around him. He didn't really mind, however.

He screamed her name, but no response seemed to be imminent. She was turned to the side, and he was out of her peripheral vision, so a visual stoppage was out of the question. He could always throw something at the woman, but he wasn't fully trustful of his physical aim. When he was younger he threw a dodge ball at a bully. It went nowhere near his tormenter, but it landed on the other side of the room—and it hit his then crush. Let's just say when he asked her out, the incident was still fresh in her mind. Ever since then he was never entrusted with projectiles, unless it was behind a computer screen. Pushing the thought away, he went to the next best thing: her stereo.

It wasn't the best option (Shego was very protective of her stuff—remember she had four brothers and they were young once), yet it was better than battling it out over the music in a verbal confrontation. Drakken then slipped further inside, located the stereo, and made his way to it. He pressed the button and whipped his head around to scream her name again, but there was no need.

Apparently, the green woman was entranced in the music that the sudden disturbance disoriented the woman. Her grip was ready to release, her brain wasn't, and her momentum went with the former. Unwillingly, she flung herself in the air, but her form wasn't there so she opted out. She landed 10 feet away from the bar, setting on the balls of her feet using her arms to stabilize herself on either side. She quickly turned her head to the source of the music and the unsuspected visitor.

"What the heck Dr. D!" She brushed herself off, put her hands on her hips, and pierced a glare at the intruder. He stood, crossing his arms over his broad chest, and evenly growling at her.

"I can't work with your music shaking my equipment, now can I?" He scorned, with his usual childish voice. Shego just stared and then retorted:

"Shaking your equipment? How can that—" The green woman stopped herself as something suddenly hit her. She cocked an eyebrow, "Why are you using your lab? Aren't you working at Global Justice's headquarters?" Wasn't he? Usually he was gone when she wakes up—if she ever got the opportunity to sleep in. The only reason she didn't question his actions this morning was because she acquired free food from the man. Then another thought rushed through her mind: Is he . . . fired?

Drakken softened, slightly. The topic of his new at-lair position hadn't come up in their feast over pancakes, so Shego didn't know he was there working below. Realizing this, his voice went calm and level, "I, uh. . . I applied and got an at-lair job. Now I work here full time."

Originally, the tinted woman's reply was going to be an unproblematic 'oh', but the usual satire rose in her mind. She smirked, and replied, "So now you're the maternal figure?"

She knew this would exacerbate him, and his expression that crossed his face satisfied her need to annoy him. His teeth clamped shut, the vein on his neck slightly showed around his collar, and his blue skin turned into a deeper shade. Most of the time, she would think how she could possibly be tired of such a reaction (she highly believed she wouldn't . . . and yes she would continue mocking him with stride). But today, after the impromptu awakening that resulted in a compromising position, the fidgeting slumber, and the refined banquet her thoughts went elsewhere. The thoughts pelted along to . . . "the incident"; the turmoil of emotions, the inexcusable activities, and her feelings on the matter.

Shego quickly shook off her daze, tightening her grip on her hips, distracting her from her rummaging of that godforsaken day. Thankfully the doctor didn't seem to notice her internal conflict, and the green hero relaxed ever so slightly.

"N-n-no!" He fused, still collaborating words to fill his mouth. The woman in front of him smirked even more.

Oh, yes. She could not get use to this.

"Well, what is it then?"

"It's a job! At the lair!" She was surprised she couldn't see steam erupting from his ears.

She pried, "And I work away. Face it Dr. D I bring home the bacon."

A growl broke from his throat. "You—I—she . . . oh forget it!"

She giggled sadistically, turned and headed for the door. Over her shoulder, with a wicked smile on her face, she continued, "Okay, Doc. Whatever makes you sleep at night."

He followed suit raising his hand, trying to prove his weakening point. "I am so not the wife in this association. I am the man!"

She snickered, "I'm sorry but who was the one who bore an apron this morning? Oh, right. It was you." She twirled around to point at him—

"Oof!"

Shego hit something (astonishingly) hard and fell forward with it. The air was knocked out of the green hero's lungs as her body landed on the mysterious wall. Grumbling for the fulminant downfall, the woman rigidly lifted her head to the stone hard palisade. But all her eyes could see was blue; Blue coat, blue shirt, and blue skin. Her breath hitched in mid inhale as she realized what precisely happened. Apparently the doctor thought it was a justifiable idea to follow his mordacious assistant to the exit, step by step. And because of his stubbornness and her verbal tirade, they ended up like the previous night. Shego was straddling Drakken on top and the man underneath her was shell-shocked and catatonic by the positional oscillation.

The blue man suppressed a gulp as his vision was engulfed by green, and the full complexities of the situation swarmed over him. Shego was atop, legs on either side of him, and palms pressed firmly against his chest. His hands, however, was—unintentionally—grasping her hips in an attempt to brace the fall of the woman. Both of them wide eyed and mute and both of them tacitly enjoying the warmth radiating through each other's bodies.

The tinted woman pushed undesirable and conflicting thoughts out of her mind as her fingers sprawled across the doctor's chest. Particularly toned and brawn pecs—

Shego withheld a scoff as the sensation of curiosity crossed her consciousness. This was her _boss_, not some beach-baked bodybuilder from the spa or a Wall Street executive. She knew he worked hard to stay trim and she knew he had to be in good physical shape to run from their old arch-foe and from GJ. The woman just didn't know he was _this_ fit or that he was _this_ muscle prominent through his lab coat. It made her wonder . . . what else he was hiding from her. Immediately she repressed the intimate dubiousness that plagued her brain. So she focused her psyche and gaze on something else like his deep obsidian eyes or the electricity coursing through her fingertips as they were held against their will by her aghast body.

As she gazed into the oblivion called his eyes, she noticed that fluorescents above them casted a spot light on his face, illuminating his irises. What the ex-mercenary saw enraptured her. She never noticed—maybe it was the lighting or that her own ignorance got in the way or even that she never truly looked the scientist in the eyes—that there are flakes of ultramarine encircling his pupil, like bursts of secret color outshone by the darkness of the rest of his iris. Perhaps it was because of his flunked experiment in the past or it was just natural before then, but Shego had an indocile impulse to lean forward and examine more. Yet woman stopped herself before she ended up doing something regrettable.

This whole debacle lasted only a few seconds, but to the two abnegations on the floor of the gym, both intertwined in each other's limbs, warmth, and electricity, it seemed like hours maybe days of indulgence.

Shego was acutely aware of the doctor's gloved fingers on her skin (which is revealed by the grey crop top she had on), and the scientist was mindful of how his assistant's fingers straggled on his chest and how her body seemed to react to his own. And as they laid there taking in each other's essence, both competent and complete, they did not say a single word.

Because, finally, the dewy-eyed, toothy, and prolix Drakken collided with the apathetic, pungent, and reticent Shego.

Until that doggone communicator rang.

Both visibly jumped at the interruption and both lost the haze of impinging with each other. Shego relinquished her hands from the blue man's chest (much to his disappointment) and sat back on her heels, placing her hands back on her hips (which Drakken didn't possess anymore from the sudden disturbance). A tepid smirk played across her face, but it felt forced and without backbone. Before she spoke, she eyed him and their position.

"I told you Dr. D, I'm dominant in this family."

**((((0))))**

**I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Maybe it was because of the plethora of fluff or that it was interesting to write. I hope it compensates for the previous chapter and hopefully this _does_ make up for the lack of D/S in the last chapter. Hopefully you liked (or loved if you prefer) this installment of CCWE and Please reply!**

**Again tell me if I missed any grammar or spelling mistakes in this or in other chapters I posted (or maybe you don't understand something I wrote). Please do through a comment or Private Message. Thank you.**

**Thanks for reading—if you did at least. And comment if you will. Those blue numbers rising will motivate me to get writing more and post more. Though I will not condescend to make chapter hostages, but it will prompt me to write and update pronto. Thank you for reading my rant and I will virtually see you next time!**

**~Silver**


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